


I Lived My Life In A Gilded Cage (You Saved Me Before They Clipped My Wings)

by Ellory



Series: Pureblood Wizarding Culture [17]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Aristocracy, F/M, Genderbending, Metamorphmagus, Pureblood Culture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-05
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-12-24 06:37:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12007134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellory/pseuds/Ellory
Summary: Playing with Slytherins was so much more fun and distracting than playing with Gryffindors.





	I Lived My Life In A Gilded Cage (You Saved Me Before They Clipped My Wings)

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on fanfiction.net.

The wind ripped the ribbon from her hair as Heiress Josephine Potter swooped toward the ground. It streamed behind her, dancing in the wind. Laughter escaped and her cheeks ached from the force of her grin. She pulled up mere feet from the ground. For just an instant, she felt free. Then reality intruded.

“On the ground, this instant!” Lady Dorea Potter commanded. “You’re being much too reckless, Josephine. Why don’t you ever think about consequences? How do you think your uncle and I would react to finding your broken body on the lawn?”

The words hurt. For half an hour, Josephine had managed to push away the memory of returning from Hogwarts to find her parents’ dead bodies, wasted away to little more than skin and bones. Her aunt’s words had thrown the memory right in her face.

Josephine stumbled as she landed on the sprawling lawn behind Potter Manor and dropped her Comet 360. She loved her aunt. She did. Yet, after her parents’ deaths, her aunt and uncle smothered her. In all of the years that Josephine had been flying, she had never once been in a serious accident. In fact, she was the only member of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team who had never been sent to the Hospital Wing following a practice or game.

Being the only niece of overprotective relatives wasn’t brilliant. It was a nightmare. Freedom and happiness were relics of the past.

“What do you have to say for yourself, Josephine?” asked Dorea.

And that—she hated that. With family, she was meant to be Jo. None of her surviving relatives would call her anything but her full name. She loathed it. “I’m sorry, Aunt Dorea.” Josephine loved her family. That didn’t stop her from hating them.

Dorea heaved a sigh and dropped her arms from their crossed position. “I love you, Josephine. You know that. I just worry about you. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

This was when guilt usually reared its head in Josephine’s chest. She was the miracle child of the Potter family: the much-coveted heiress. She was the only surviving member of the Main Potter Line. Josephine was the first daughter born into the Potter family in over three centuries. And, on top of that, she hadn’t been born until her mother was thirty-three, which was practically ancient in regards to a pureblood witch’s first child. Her parents had started to fear that Euphemia was barren, and then Josephine had come along—shortly after Fleamont Potter, her father, performed a sacrifice to Mother Magic.

Uncle Charlus and Aunt Dorea’s son, Harry Charlus Potter, had come along almost ten years before.

“I know, Aunt Euphemia. I love you, too,” said Josephine, fighting to keep the tiredness out of her voice. The guilt was gone. She couldn’t help but wonder if she had finally become immune to guilt trips.

Dorea grabbed her by the hand and ushered her inside, away from the sky and shining sun. “Now, come inside before you catch a chill.”

There wasn’t even a hint of an afternoon breeze. It was so warm out that Josephine was wearing her thinnest robes. Unfortunately, Dorea didn’t care much for logic—especially if she felt that someone was trying to use it against her. She did what she believed was best for her family; whether her family agreed with her opinions or not didn’t seem to be particularly relevant to her.

“Sit. Sit,” Dorea said insistently. She beamed at Josephine. “I have wonderful news for you!”

Josephine flopped onto the couch in the sunroom and squeezed her eyes shut.   
“Oh?” It was hard to feign interest. Her aunt might love her, but Dorea didn’t understand her at all. Then again, she didn’t try.

Dorea clapped her hands together like a giddy child. “I’ve arranged a bonding contract for you. Isn’t that marvelous?”

“What?” Was it possible to feel all the blood drain from your face? 

“You never spoke of your feelings for him, but I could tell.” Dorea winked at her and smoothed non-existent wrinkles from her robes. 

Josephine’s tongue felt thick and clumsy. “Who—?” She shoved her hands under her thighs, so that her aunt wouldn’t see how badly they trembled. Dorea didn’t approve of pureblood witches who lost their composure. Her heartbeat sounded like a thunderstorm in her ears. 

This was a joke, right? Her aunt hadn’t actually . . . had she?

“Sirius, of course!” Dorea smirked. “He’s a handsome fellow. You have good taste, not that I would expect anything else. The Blacks are ever so charming.” Her smirk widened. “Sephora Selwyn told her mother that you’re almost never apart at school, and you often mention Sirius in your letters home. Your compatibility is beyond question at this point. You’re sixteen now; that’s more than old enough to be bonded to the love of your life.”

A sound was ripped from her throat, then. All the deportment lessons in the world wouldn’t have been able to lock it in.

“Are you . . . joking?” Josephine asked. Please, for the love of Morgana, let her be joking. 

While it was true that Josephine was rarely seen without Sirius, that was because the bastard wouldn’t stop stalking her! He was so sure he would eventually win her over. She would date a Slytherin before she would date Sirius!

“Of course not,” Dorea said hurriedly, as if to assure her. “I would never tease you in such a cruel manner.” She left her chair to sit beside Josephine and hugged her. “It’s really happening. I promise.” She kissed Josephine’s cheek. “Isn’t this the best surprise in the world, Josephine?”

Sirius Black was a rake. Not a rascal, not a cheeky rogue, but an actual rake. He used his title as Heir Black in a manner that turned Josephine’s stomach and always had. She had heard of him kissing (or worse) witches often enough that she lost count. That wasn’t including the times she had come across him in a less than proper situation; luckily, she had been sneaking through the hallways beneath her family’s invisibility cloak each time and managed to avoid detection.

Worst of all, Josephine knew that her aunt wouldn’t believe her if she said anything. Dorea would merely glare and reprimand her for listening to gossip. That would likely be followed by a lecture on how ugly jealousy was and that proper pureblood witches did not allow envy to consume them. Her aunt would never understand that she wasn’t jealous of the ‘gossip,’ and the witches who allegedly got kisses from Sirius.

“It’s a surprise, all right,” Josephine whispered; she almost choked on the words.

Dorea laughed then. “I’ve stunned you speechless. I didn’t even know that was possible. I have to go tell your uncle!”

After Dorea swept from the room, Josephine collapsed in on herself. She clasped her hands over her mouth. Her shoulders shuddered as tears streamed down her face. Blind panic consumed her.

“No. No. No. No. No!”

Josephine exited the room at a dead sprint. She loved her family enough to put up with a great deal; she didn’t love them enough to bond with Sirius Black.

She didn’t trust him. And he was never going to lay a hand on her—especially not intimately. He was the type of wizard whose eyes would wander. It wouldn’t surprise her if he stepped out on his wife, ignoring the sacred nature of a bonding. She had lost count of how many times Sirius had told her that rules were meant to be broken, boundaries were meant to be crossed, and expectations were a delight to shatter.

Once she passed through the ancestral wards, Josephine whispered the words that would activate her emergency Portkey anklet. “Star sapphires.”

The room she appeared in made her feel safe. She didn’t come here often. Even though she loved being here, she couldn’t chance losing herself. As her gaze trailed over the delicate furniture, resolve overtook her.

It was her sanctuary.

“I . . . I’m not leaving this time,” she whispered, voice shaking. Josephine straightened her spine and forced the words out again—firm as Hogwarts’ foundation. “I’m not leaving this time.”

Josephine walked over to the full-length mirror that was next to the enormous wardrobe. The face staring back at her—pale and tear-stained and haunted—would never be seen again after today. In her entire life, Josephine had only managed to keep a handful of things almost entirely secret. Her sanctuary and what she was about to do were two of them.

Courage didn’t always mean standing and fighting. Sometimes courage meant knowing when to retreat, when standing and fighting would utterly destroy you.

“I’m never, ever, ever going back!” Josephine spat. Her parents were gone; she had no reason to return. If Charlus and Dorea thought they could take over her life, she would just remove herself from their grasp.

Then Josephine stared at her reflection and called up her Metamorphmagus magic. It didn’t take long for her body to change into a familiar shape. Josephine shrank three inches, so that she was about five-foot-seven. Her chest and hips became fuller. Her skin lightened from a dark tan to peach. Josephine’s hazel eyes turned the color of lapis lazuli; she Vanished the useless glasses that she normally wore. Last of all, she transformed her unruly hair to long waves and from black to strawberry-blonde. 

“This is where I belong. I’m never going back.”

Then Josephine walked over to the bedside table, opened the box on top, and smiled at the single item in it. She stripped and dropped her wand atop her clothes. Then she picked up the wand in the box. Ebony. Unicorn Hair. Rigid. Unbending. Excellent for dueling and healing.

“Incendio.” As the clothes and wand on the floor went up in flames, she said, “Goodbye, Heiress Josephine Potter.” A barrier kept the flames from spreading, and she was quick to put them out when nothing but ashes remained. She Vanished them.

After dressing in a pair of robes the color of her eyes, she stopped in front of the mirror again and smiled. The asymmetrical cut was flattering to her figure, revealing a swath of her left leg. They were light, airy, flowing with every movement she made.

After gathering her hair in an elaborate chignon, she smiled at herself. “Hello,” she whispered to her reflection. “This is your new home.”

She stretched her magic out and breathed a sigh of relief when she realized that she wasn’t alone. She didn’t think she could bear that at the moment. When Lucius Malfoy’s magic reached back toward her, her smile widened. 

It seemed to take no time at all, and, somehow, forever at the same time, to reach the silver sitting room. Ignoring his many guests, she curled up against his side on the couch.

“Lucius,” She relaxed against him. 

Ever since Lucius had found out her secret—when she was foolishly practicing her Metamorphmagus magic during first year in an unwarded classroom—he and his family had provided her shelter from everything. It was a logical continuance of his family fostering her when she was five for a whole year.

Lucius was protective. He was caring without being smothering. And, best of all, he never attempted to make her decisions for her. He spoke with her, not at her. And when she needed to talk, he always listened. Even as the years passed and he graduated from Hogwarts, he always had time for her. He was twenty-one now, and had never blown her off. Lucius was the person she could always count on.

His eyes cut away from Heir Flavius Flint to lock on her face. His smile was tender as he curled his arm around her. “Welcome home, Meg.” Lucius kissed her forehead. “How are you?”

“Moved in.”

Lucius’s gaze narrowed. “What did they do?” he hissed, rage sparking through his magic and into hers.

“Murdered the Potter Heiress, as far as I’m concerned,” she whispered. A twitch of her magic guaranteed the words didn’t carry. She sighed and closed her eyes. “I don’t want to talk about it now.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean, Meg?”

“Lucius.” She cut him a sharp look. “Not now.”

“Very well,” Lucius said, “but you will tell me later. No exceptions.”

“Of course.” He was the keeper of her secrets.

“Lucius, who’s this?” Heir Rodolphus Lestrange asked.

“Ah, gentleman, please forgive me. As you can see, I was surprised by her beautiful presence,” Lucius said. It never failed to touch her heart that he said such things, each one being entirely sincere. “This glorious witch is my cousin, the Lady Marguerite Malfoy.”

“These are friends of mine, Meg. Lord Flavius Flint, Heir Rodolphus Lestrange, Master Rabastan Lestrange, and Heir Evan Rosier. These gentleman were schoolmates of mine while I was at Hogwarts,” Lucius said.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, gentlemen,” Marguerite said. “That Lucius puts up with you at all tells me a lot about you.” She smirked when they laughed.

“I assure you, Lady Marguerite, the pleasure is all ours,” Evan said with a roguish wink.

“Quite right, Evan. The pleasure is all ours, Lady Marguerite,” Rabastan said as his eyes swept over her.

Lucius rolled his eyes and sneered at his cohorts. “I’ve taught her better than that. Don’t even try it.”

Marguerite grinned. “Lucius doesn’t like wizards anywhere near me.”

“Oh?” Flavius cocked an eyebrow. “Isn’t that interesting?”

“Is it?” Marguerite feigned interest in her cuticles. Playing with Slytherins was so much more fun and distracting than playing with Gryffindors. “Hadn’t you realized that he’s self-centered? The poor dear can’t stand not being the center of attention.”

“Meg!”

“I don’t want my favorite cousin to waste away, so I take pity on him from time to time.” Marguerite patted Lucius on the shoulder. “I want him to stay pretty, after all.”

“Marguerite!” Lucius covered her mouth with his hand, which only sent her into peals of muffled laughter.

“She’s your cousin?” Flavius asked as he watched them shrewdly.

“Yes, my distant cousin,” Lucius stressed. It wasn’t the truth, of course. But Lucius wouldn’t be Lucius if he weren’t intentionally misleading someone.

“Oh?” Flavius smirked. “Lucky for you, Lucius.”

“What do you mean, Lord Flint?” Marguerite asked, after pulling Lucius’s hand away from her lips. 

The guests stared at her in disbelief. Rabastan’s mouth fell open, though he quickly snapped it shut. Flavius fumbled his butterbeer. Rodolphus burst into a coughing fit.

“Are you jesting, Lady Marguerite?” Evan asked.

“No.” Marguerite hated the way they were staring at her, as if she couldn’t see a raging hippogriff in the room. It made her feel stupid. She hated feeling stupid. Was this one of those Sacred Twenty-Eight things she would have to learn now?

“Lucius, you’ve really sheltered her, haven’t you?” Flavius sounded impressed.

“Why do I get a feeling that’s an insult?” Marguerite grumbled. She glared at Lucius and swatted his chest. “What’re you hiding from me, you prat?” Her magic rippled through the air as she lost her temper with him.

“Curse you, Lucius,” Evan rasped. “Your mother must have bathed you in Felix Felicis when you were a baby. You have the most blessed luck I have ever seen in my entire life.”

A vibrant laugh echoed through the room. “Now you know my secret, Heir Rosier. I pray you won’t share it.” Lady Lucretia Malfoy stood in the doorway, a teasing twinkle in her amethyst eyes. A light smattering of freckles bridged her nose.

“You have my word, Lady Malfoy,” Evan replied as he inclined his head.

Marguerite turned away from Lucius with a wide grin on her face. “I missed you, Aunt Lucretia!” Ever since her fostering, Lucretia had insisted that Marguerite call her ‘Aunt.’ It hadn’t taken long before Marguerite had come to love Lucretia as her true aunt.

“And I missed you, Meg. I’m so glad you’re back.” Lucretia walked over and stroked Marguerite’s hair. 

“How was lunch with the Minister?” Lucius asked.

Lucretia frowned. “Tedious,” she said, regardless of the company present. “The Minister’s as incompetent as always. I’ll be pleased when Lord Slytherin wins the election in four months. Your father’s thrilled he’s finally come home to England.” 

“All of us are,” Flavius said. “Bagnold’s pathetic attempt to cling to power is pitiful to watch.”

Lucretia glanced pointedly at Lucius’s arm around Marguerite. “May I borrow her, Lucius?”

“I just got her back,” Lucius retorted. “She’s been gone forever.”

Chuckling, Lucretia said, “I know, Lucius. It really is important, though.”

“What is it?” Marguerite asked. She was reluctant to leave Lucius’s side after the day she had suffered through, particularly since it had been almost a month since she had last been able to come see the Malfoys.

“Abraxas and I have something important to discuss with you, Meg.” Lucretia leaned down and kissed Marguerite’s forehead. “I wouldn’t dream of tearing you away from him if it were something frivolous. I promise it won’t take long.”

“Lucius?”

“It’s your choice. You know that,” Lucius replied. His match latched onto her, in direct opposition to his words. He had always been a possessive bastard when it came to her.

“You’ll still be here when I’m done,” Marguerite ordered. She didn’t want to admit it, but she felt annoyingly fragile after the morning’s events. Lucius’s presence always made her feel safe.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he promised her.

“All right.” Marguerite reluctantly drew away from Lucius, hating the warmth that disappeared when his arm fell away from her.

“Thank you, Meg.” Lucretia nodded to the guests and left the room. “We’ll be in Abraxas’s study.”

Marguerite flicked a mocking salute at their guests. “It was nice to meet some of the people who pander to Lucius’s ego.” As they roared with laughter, Lucius flushed. Mission accomplished

“Oh, the pleasure was all ours, Lady Marguerite,” Flavius answered for all of them.

“Glory in Gold, Blessings in Blood, and Might in Magic,” she said before leaving the room. If she dithered any longer, she wouldn’t follow Lucretia at all. There was something intoxicating about Lucius’s presence. Once she was within the reach of his magic, she never wanted to leave it.

“Ah, there you are. I thought I might have to come save you from Lucius’s hugs,” Abraxas Malfoy said. He was tall and broad-shouldered. He was handsome and powerful, and Lucius looked nearly identical to him. Lucius had eyes the color of gray star sapphires; Abraxas’s were moonstones.

“Don’t be silly,” Marguerite said as she hugged him. “You’ll never need to save me from Lucius.”

Abraxas scooped Marguerite up in his arms and spun her around in circles, something no one had done since her father died. It brought back memories of good times. She kissed both of his cheeks, and then laughed when he set her on his desk. 

“What did you want to discuss?” Marguerite asked. It must be truly important if they were going to discuss it in Abraxas’s study. She had only been in here once before, and that was when Abraxas provided her with the emergency Portkey anklet and she had been keyed into the wards at five years old.

“The first thing you need to know,” Abraxas said, as solemnly as if he were presenting a bill of law to the Wizengamot, “is that you have every right to refuse. Whether you agree or not has no bearing on your right to be here whenever and as long as you want. Malfoy Manor will always be your home.”

Marguerite’s shoulders hunched. That wasn’t a good lead-in to a conversation. How terrible was this going to be?

“I expect you to say ‘No!’ if you don’t like what I’m going to propose. Do you understand, Marguerite?” Abraxas asked.

She knew he was completely serious when he didn’t use her nickname. It was a rare occasion when any of the Malfoys referred to her by the name Lucius had invented as a cover when she was eleven. “I understand.”

“According to Family Law, a Malfoy maiden cannot be courted until the season after she turns sixteen.” Marguerite remembered that bit from her reading. “Lucius asked me for official permission to court you the first day of summer.”

“We’ve been waiting for you to visit so that we could ask if you’re interested,” Lucretia said. Her gaze was earnest, almost painfully so. “He loves you. He swore on the Family Magics to prove his sincerity.”

“But don’t let that sway your heart,” Abraxas interjected. “If you’re not romantically interested in him, all you have to do is say so.”

Marguerite fractured. Her Occlumency shields shattered under the pressure of her roiling emotions. Hopes and fantasies spilled forth: Lucius kissing her, the smirk on his lips as she rebelliously waltzed with him, the warmth of waking up in his arms with a bonding ring on her left hand, the eyes of their children, early morning Abraxan rides with her seated before him, nights spent watching the stars after swimming in the lake, and professions of love whispered against bare skin.

She didn’t notice anything in the real world until the door to the study slammed violently against the wall.

“What’s wrong? What happened to her?” Lucius demanded as he rushed toward her. “I could feel her magic broadcasting her pain on the other side of the manor.”

“I don’t know!” Lucretia replied through tears. “We told her you wanted to court her, that you love her, and then—” She gestured at Marguerite’s condition as an explanation of what happened next.

Lucius flinched. His eyes dulled. “Does the thought of my loving you truly cause you such immense pain?”

“No!” Marguerite screamed. “Morgana, no!” Tears came even faster as she stared at him. 

“Then will you let me court you, Meg?” Lucius asked, as he twined a hand in her hair. 

How much time passed when her shields imploded and she lost control of her mind and emotions? She thought she would choke on the words and die; they were that painful to speak. “I wish . . . I wish I could.”

“You wish you could?” Lucius rasped. He shook her lightly. “Why can’t you? Who’s in my way?”

“I fainted on that couch after Dorea destroyed my world, didn’t I?” Marguerite laughed, it was broken and bitter. She caressed Lucius’s cheek. “I wish you’d ask me that in the real world, Lucius.”

“What are you talking about?” Lucius demanded.

Her eyes were suspiciously dry as she answered his question in a monotone voice. “Dorea sold me to Sirius.”

Lucius swore loudly and vehemently and extensively. Honestly, she was impressed at how many curse words she knew; her unconscious mind put colorful, lurid words in his mouth.

“Over Black’s dead body!” Lucius jolted her with his magic hard enough to make her bones ache. “This isn’t a dream, Meg. This is real. And Black will never have you.” He hugged her fiercely; it hurt in the best way.

Marguerite shuddered in relieved disbelief. Not even she, wielder of the Potter Family Magics, could imitate Lucius’s magic to that degree. This wasn’t a delusion. She could honestly be free of Dorea’s machinations.

“Swear to me that’s true, Lucius,” she whispered, only vaguely aware that Lucretia was prodding Abraxas out of the room. “I want your word of honor that Black will die before finagling his way into my bed.” She didn’t even want to imagine it.

“I swear it,” Lucius replied immediately. He leaned his forehead against hers and stared into her eyes. “Now tell me you accept my courtship, Meg.” He kissed the skin just beneath her right eye. “This isn’t a dream.”

“This’ll be my first courtship, you prat. You better not mess it up,” Marguerite ordered. Before he could object and act all affronted, she kissed him. Finally, an effective way to shut him up. And if she happened to benefit from it, well, all the better.

* * *

Three days later, Marguerite prowled around her bedroom. Lucius was taking her out to lunch for their first Courtship Date. She had never spent so long getting ready in her life. It was embarrassing how long she took. And why did she suddenly hate all her clothes and accessories? How was that at all rational?

“Is Mistress being ready?” Felnook asked.

“Yes,” Marguerite told her house-elf. “Please tell Lucius that I’ll be down in just a few minutes.”

“As the Mistress be wishing,” replied Felnook, before popping away.

She glanced down at herself and wondered for the hundredth time if she should change her clothes. Marguerite wore aureate tights beneath a mauve wizard’s tunic. It was cut the same way as Lucius’s current preferred fashion of wizarding robes. However, it was fitted to her frame. The square neckline was daring, given the size of her bust. A gold belt cinched in at her waist, and the tunic stopped just above her knees. Her slippers were gold lace, matching the gloves she wore and the half-veil that covered her eyes.

There was a sharp knock on her door, and then it opened before she could reply. Lucretia stood in the doorway with a smile on her face. “You look stunning, Meg. Absolutely stunning.” Lucretia laughed throatily. “I think that Lucius is going to spend the afternoon fighting off other interested parties.”

“Perfect.”

“I agree,” Lucretia smirked. “Just because you love him doesn’t mean you shouldn’t make him prove himself.”

She raised an eyebrow. “I’m a Malfoy Maiden; he has a lot to prove to be worthy of me.” 

“I know.” Lucretia laughed again, her eyes sparkling with her delight. “And now my son gets to learn what it’s like to protect a treasure that thinks for itself and doesn’t stay locked up in a jewelry box until it’s wanted by its owner.”

“So,” Marguerite ran her hands down the tunic, “you think Lucius will like it?”

A smirk wended its way across Lucretia’s face. “Very much, indeed.”

“Right. Okay.” Marguerite relaxed her hands, but that did nothing to calm her nerves. “Wish me luck?” 

Lucretia snorted. “I think Lucius is the one who needs luck.”

Marguerite laughed joyously and went to meet her beau. Like every cliché of pureblood society, Marguerite paused at the top of the grand staircase to give him a proper chance to admire her. He dropped the gift box he held. Laughing even harder than before, she sauntered down the stairs. “Lucius.” She tugged on his magic, unconsciously wrapping it around herself.

Lucius blinked twice and kissed her. “I have a gift for you, Meg. Will you accept it?”

“Of course, Lucius.” Marguerite stared at him, lips twitching. “As soon as you pick it up off the floor.”

Flushing, he handed her a white box tied shut with a glittering gold ribbon. When she untied the ribbon, Marguerite gasped. On the lid of the box, engraved in gold leaf, was the image of a spinning wheel. “Lucius, you shouldn’t have!” Marguerite said, gaze flying up to his. “The Spindle is—”

“The only jewelry shop in England that I’d trust to produce something cursed to my exact specifications to keep you safe.” He narrowed his gaze. “There is nothing I fear in Knockturn Alley. I would brave anything to protect you.” He stroked her cheek. “Nothing bought at The Enchanted Rose could guarantee your protection from men’s unwanted attentions.” Lucius disparaged the most famous jewelry shop in Diagon Alley as if its inventory was of less worth than common Muggle gems. “I’m a Dark Wizard and I will commission Jewel Artisans who practice Black Arts if it will keep you safe and ease my mind.”

“Lucius,” she whispered. For all that society saw the Potters as beacons of the Light, her own mother’s first courting gift from her father had been from The Spindle as well.

Marguerite was stunned, not only by the passionate emotion of Lucius’s response, but by the intent that went into the gift. First Courtship Date gifts were usually inexpensive, though tasteful. The Spindle was anything but inexpensive. The little box in her hand held something that likely cost more than the entire updated wardrobe Lucretia had taken her to get at The Scarlet Cloak the day before.

“Open it,” Lucius prodded.

A gasp spilled from her lips once Marguerite lifted the lid from the box. Inside, nestled on a bed of black Acromantula silk, was a bracelet. It was a double-string bracelet of star sapphires and lapis lazuli. The clasp was platinum, in the shape of the Malfoy Family Crest. “Oh, Lucius.” Her fingers shook as she touched it.

“You love it!” He said smugly.

Marguerite smacked him lightly on the chest. “Don’t get cocky, you prat.” She kissed him, because he deserved it. “But your taste is surprisingly not appalling.”

He smirked. “That means you love it.” Lucius placed it around her left wrist, signaling that she was participating in an exclusive courtship and was not interested in other suitors at this time. When the clasp closed, she gasped in relief and leaned her forehead against his chest. 

“Do I want to know what curses and spells the Jewel Artisans sang into it?” she asked.

“Probably not when we’re headed to lunch.” Lucius smirked. “I’ll just say that attempting to harm you or steal the bracelet would be most unwise on all accounts.”

“Suicidally so?” inquired Marguerite, eyebrow quirked.

Lucius’s smirk widened. “Perhaps.” He took a step backward and perused her. “You are glorious.”

Marguerite flushed. “Thank you, Lucius. You’re looking rather dashing yourself.” He was fit: tall, broad-shouldered, with his fair hair hanging loose to his shoulders.

“Are you ready to go?”

“Felnook,” Marguerite called. When her house-elf popped up beside her, she handed Felnook the white box and gold ribbon. “Please take these to my bedroom and place them on my vanity.”

“At once, Mistress,” Felnook replied. 

“Now I’m ready, Lucius,” Marguerite said. Nerves fluttered in her stomach, but they were much different from the ones that appeared before a Quidditch match.

“Come here. I’m going to Apparate us,” Lucius said. He held her tight to his chest and spun on his heel. “All right?”

It took a moment for her world to reorient itself. Apparation was nothing like Portkeying; she was much more familiar with the latter. “I’m fine,” she answered when everything stopped spinning.

Lucius stepped backward and offered her his arm. Marguerite laid hers atop his, her lace-covered fingers just brushing the back of his hand. “Welcome to The Magic Lamp. I hope you’re hungry.”

“Famished,” Marguerite answered. Her eyes darted everywhere as they passed through various chambers. It was so different from The Golden Fleece, the Potters’ preferred pureblood club.

“Well, is it good enough for you, Meg?” Lucius asked as he led her into a dining room. There were low tables placed far enough apart to ensure privacy. Large, silken pillows surrounded them. Pureblood witches and wizards spoke in quiet voices as they ate their meals, though periodic laughter filled the room.

“It’s perfect, Lucius.” She beamed up at him. “You have such—” A very soft, feathery laugh distracted her. Marguerite’s eyes scanned the room. When they landed on a petite witch with blonde hair, her fingers curled around Lucius’s hand. “Narcissa.” She turned to Lucius. “May I see her for just a moment, Lucius? Please? She’s the . . . only friend I have,” Marguerite concluded.

Lady Narcissa Black was the only person, other than the Malfoys, who knew that she used to be Heiress Josephine Potter. In her third year, Josephine had accidentally dropped a magical map she had made of Hogwarts. Narcissa had seen it fall from her bag. She had picked it up to return it to Josephine, and had seen Marguerite Malfoy replace Josephine Potter on the map. Luckily for Marguerite, Narcissa loved knowing what others didn’t. She swore herself to secrecy without any prompting.

Ever since then, Marguerite had snuck out of Gryffindor Tower when she could to spend time with Narcissa. Their meetings were made easier by Narcissa’s house being Ravenclaw; she didn’t need a reason to vanish for hours. Her housemates would just all assume that she was in the library.

Now that Josephine Potter was dead, as it were, Narcissa was her only friend.

“Of course. Whatever makes you happy.” He guided her through the tables, only for a smirk to paint his features. “Besides, annoying Flavius is one of my favorite hobbies.”

“What?” 

It was only then that Marguerite thought to look across the table from Narcissa. Lord Flavius Flint sat on a forest green pillow. His chestnut hair curled about his ears, and his amber eyes were alight with interest. He was leaning slightly forward as he spoke to Narcissa, but not so far that her friend would feel trapped. He was a year or two older than Lucius, if she remembered rightly, but Marguerite thought that was a good thing when it came to Narcissa. She needed someone cunning enough to see through her masks and games.

“Flavius, it’s wonderful to see you,” Lucius said, still smirking, as he clapped Flavius on the shoulder.

“What are you doing here, Lucius?” asked Flavius, only a hint of irritation at being interrupted leaking through.

“Marguerite!” Narcissa’s face lit up, and Flavius suddenly looked as if he had been hit over the head with a Bludger. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“It’s been much too long, Narcissa,” Marguerite said. They hadn’t seen each other very often since Narcissa graduated two summers past. She knelt beside Narcissa on the pillow and hugged her friend, before kissing both of her cheeks. “I’m sorry for interrupting, but I had to come say hello.”

“Why don’t you join us?” Flavius suggested, gaze locked on Narcissa’s radiant visage.

“Oh, we couldn’t possibly—”

“Please, Marguerite? Won’t you stay?” Narcissa implored.

“I . . .” Marguerite bit her lip and glanced up at Lucius. She knew that joining someone else’s Courtship Date was not what he had planned for the afternoon. It wouldn’t surprise her if he had detailed lists so that everything would be just perfect for her. “Lucius?”

He sat on the pillow next to hers, and then brought her left hand to his lips for a kiss. “I told you earlier, whatever makes you happy.”

Lunch progressed wonderfully, though the amount of laughter coming from their table as Lucius and Flavius told absurd stories about each other inevitably drew the attention of the other purebloods in the room. Marguerite was just thankful that Narcissa was being so genuine. She had hardly used any of her masks in the past two hours.

“I’ll be back shortly,” Lucius said before rising to his feet. The look he gave Flavius was ever so dark and weighted.

Narcissa smiled at her. “He finally asked?”

Marguerite flushed and nodded, still embarrassed she had thought it was a delusion she conjured up. She touched the bracelet he had given her. His magic brushed against her in response. “You win, Narcissa. I was wrong.” The satisfied smirk on Narcissa’s face made Marguerite laugh again. “This is your first Courtship Date with Lord Flint?”

The pale skin of Narcissa’s cheeks turned rosy. “The third.”

“Oh?” She sighed. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you to speak with.” 

“You’re here now. That’s what matters,” Narcissa replied. She fiddled with an obsidian bracelet on her right wrist.

Marguerite turned the full force of her attention on Flavius. He was the only wizard who hadn’t eyed her with interest during the visit at Malfoy Manor. Even Rodolphus had, and he was engaged to Narcissa’s sister. Even as she stared at him, Narcissa held his attention. “You have excellent taste, Lord Flint.”

“Yes, I do,” he agreed.

“Marguerite,” Narcissa said, the beginnings of a blush on her cheeks.

“He’s one of the sincere ones,” Marguerite said boldly. “If I were you, I’d move that bracelet to my other wrist.”

“You continue to surprise me, Lady—”

A shadow fell over the table. Marguerite leaned backward as a hand was thrust much too close to her. “Sirius, Heir Black, at your service. May I have your name, my lady?” He winked at her. “I promise I’m more fun than old Flint here.”

Marguerite felt gutted as all her suspicions were proven true in just three sentences. Sirius was engaged to Josephine Potter, and here he was trying to charm her. If she hadn’t been a Metamorphmagus, she would’ve been forcibly bonded to a rake. 

“Not interested,” Marguerite stated. If it wouldn’t reflect badly on the Malfoys, she would stand up and punch him like a Muggle.

At the same time, Flavius snapped, “Get away from her, Black. She’s too good for the likes of you.”

“Shut up, Flint. I wasn’t talking to you,” Sirius said with a sneer.

“This isn’t a game, Black,” Flavius warned. “If you know what’s good for you, stay away from her.”

Unfortunately, Sirius loved to do the exact opposite of what he was told. He had proven this time and time again. He pasted a charming smile over his sneer and reached for her hand. Marguerite shoved it under her thigh. “I highly doubt your parents named you Not Interested. You must want me to guess, then.”

“No, she doesn’t,” Narcissa cut in, with the voice that earned her the title Ice Queen of Ravenclaw.

“Oh, you’re here, Cissy? I didn’t see you,” Sirius said dismissively, as if she wasn’t sitting right beside Marguerite.

“Bastard,” Narcissa hissed. 

“That’s Heir Bastard to you, Cissy.”

“Don’t talk to her like—”

Sirius ignored Flavius, gave Marguerite his full attention, and purred, “Where was I? Ah, right. Guessing your name. My princess? My goddess? My love? My gem?” Sirius winked at her.

Marguerite glared for all she was worth; it actually gave Sirius a moment of pause, but then he only leaned closer. “Piss off!”

Flavius stood and thrust his wand into the skin beneath Sirius’s jaw. “I’ll make things perfectly clear for you, Black, so that your tiny brain can understand them. You are going to stop talking to her, you are going to stop looking at her, and you are going to turn around and walk away and never come near her again.”

“Or what?” Sirius spat.

“Or Regulus is going to be Heir Black by the end of the week,” Flavius stated.

Sirius snorted. “A death threat. Really? Is that supposed to scare me? You’d never get away with it.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t kill you, Black. That’s much too mundane. Even a Muggle can kill someone,” Flavius said. “No, I’d see you ruined. I’d see to it that you were disowned from the Black family.” He chuckled; it wasn’t a nice sound. “And when you don’t have your title or your last name, and when you don’t have your vaults or your manor, not even Mudblood witches would give you a second glance.”

“I’d have the Potter name, manor, and wealth.” Sirius grinned. “And Josephine, too, of course.”

“I always knew you were intellectually inferior, Black, but I wasn’t aware of the depth of your willful ignorance,” Lucius said. His magic reached out to fold around her; the parts that weren’t touching her were biting and icy. “Black family betrothal and bonding contracts are completed with titles. Heiress Potter belongs to Heir Black. If Regulus becomes Heir Black, well, Heiress Potter would belong to him.”

“Josephine’s mine!” Sirius said in a rush of possessive hatred.

Marguerite leaned against Narcissa and shivered. Narcissa wrapped her arm around Marguerite’s waist. How could Sirius attempt to charm her one minute, and then claim possession of Josephine a minute later? He was mad. Utterly, dangerously mad. To think that she could have been bound to that made her want to shrink with fear from his presence.

“If you say so,” Lucius drawled, each word conveying the impression that he thought Sirius was imminently wrong.

Sirius rolled his shoulders back and stepped away from Flavius’s wand. “There’s nothing worth—”

“Heir Regulus Black has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it, Flavius?” Lucius interrupted, frigid and untamed.

With a final glare, Sirius snapped his mouth shut and stalked off.

Lucius knelt on the floor. “Meg?” He fisted his hand against the floor and lines marred his face. “Do you want to go home?”

“No. I’m not going to let him ruin our Courtship Date.”

“Are you sure?” inquired Lucius.

“Yes, Lucius, I’m sure,” Marguerite replied.

Lucius cast a glance around the room, frown deepening at the covert glances being thrown their way from everyone present. “We’re leaving. Say your goodbyes.”

Marguerite hugged Narcissa fiercely. “I’m so sorry for ruining your Courtship Date, Narcissa. I didn’t mean to do that. I’m so, so sorry.”

“You didn’t ruin it, Marguerite. I’m glad you joined us. If you hadn’t, the bastard might’ve caught you alone.” Narcissa shuddered. “Don’t let him win, Marguerite. Have a wonderful afternoon with Lucius.” She kissed both of Marguerite’s cheeks.

“I will.” Marguerite kissed her cheeks and then winked at her. “And you think about moving Lord Flint’s bracelet to your other wrist. Owl me anytime you want, Narcissa. I’m staying here permanently now.”

Narcissa touched the bracelet again. “I promise I will.”

Then Lucius was leading Marguerite back to the Apparation chamber, her arm atop his. And if her fingers were gripping him, instead of lying flat against him, he didn’t mention it. He merely held her in his arms and Apparated them to Leisure Alley.

Marguerite took a deep breath, forced all thoughts of Sirius away, and grinned up at Lucius. “Where to?”

“Ah, but that would be telling,” Lucius said. His shoulders were still tense. “This way.” He rested his hand against her lower back and began ushering her past one shop after the next. “Here we are.” He gestured to a green and blue store front with a flourish.

“The Mythical Menagerie?” Marguerite asked delightedly. It was the flagship store for wizarding pets. The owners had opened a less discerning shop in Diagon Alley called The Magical Menagerie, but that was for mundane pets and hybrid beasts that didn’t react poorly to those with Muggle blood. 

Lucius handed her a piece of paper. “This is for you.”

She gasped. “Lucius, this is a license to own a pureblood Kneazle.”

“You mentioned that you wanted one.”

“I was twelve.”

“I was paying attention,” Lucius said. He rubbed his thumb against her waist. “Do you still want one?”

“Yes, of course!” Marguerite said. She had wanted one since she was a little girl, but she wouldn’t have been able to take one to Hogwarts; it would have attacked the Muggle-borns, and some of the half-bloods, too. She hadn’t been able to bear the thought of getting a Kneazle and having to leave it at Potter Manor almost all year long. So she had never asked for one. “Come on!”

Lucius chuckled and allowed her to drag him into the shop after she twined their fingers together. “Excited?”

“Not at all,” Marguerite lied cheekily as she towed him toward the pens that held the pureblood Kneazles. She stopped and stared at the fourteen Kneazle kittens. Kitten, of course, being misleading. The smallest one was already over a foot high at the shoulder.

“It’s going to take you forever to decide, isn’t it?” Lucius asked. He had a self-satisfied smile on his face. “You can only have one.”

“I want that one.”

Lucius blinked down at her. “What? You’ve decided already?”

Marguerite stared at the Kneazle farthest away from her in the pen. It had silvery white fur and black speckles; it resembled a miniature snow leopard. The tufts of hair on its ears and at the end of its tail were almost platinum in color. Its eyes were a pale blue topaz, as if someone had taken the color of her and Lucius’s eyes and mixed them together.

“I want that one,” she said, pointing directly at it.

“It’ll fit right into the family,” Lucius said. He chuckled and shook his head, as if she had surprised him in the best way. He raised his hand; a shop-boy appeared beside them.

“How may I help you, Heir Malfoy?” he asked.

“My lady wants the silver and black one,” Lucius said, gesturing to the Kneazle Marguerite had chosen.

“An excellent choice. I’ll collect her for you now,” he said.

“I’m glad you picked a female Kneazle to fall in love with. I don’t think I’d like the thought of a male sleeping in your bed, even if it is just a pet,” Lucius said.

Marguerite laughed as she chose a silver collar from a nearby display. “I daresay that between the bracelet and Venetia, any male who attempts to pester me is going to suffer a gruesome fate.”

“Venetia?” Lucius accepted the silver Kneazle from the shop-boy. “Is that what you’re going to name her?”

“Mmhmm,” Marguerite murmured as she placed the collar around Venetia’s neck. “I decided on that name for my Kneazle when I was a child.”

Lucius quirked an amused eyebrow before handing her Venetia. “You plan names that far in advance?”

“Of course.” Marguerite smirked up at him and whispered, “I’m going to name our firstborn son Draconis. And you’re going to teach him the importance of guarding his treasure.”

Lucius’s eyes went supernova. His mouth dropped open the slightest bit. Even though she knew her cheeks were pink, Marguerite couldn’t help but laugh. She had never thought she would see the day when Lucius was stunned into speechlessness.

She buried her face in Venetia’s fur and smiled. The butterflies in her stomach were flittering away, and she never wanted them to stop.

* * *

Marguerite lay on the blanket near the shore of the lake on the Malfoy Manor grounds a few days later. Her hair and body were still wet from her afternoon swim. Her aureate swimsuit was damp and clinging, but a drying charm seemed like cheating when the sun was so bright.

“How are things with Lucius?” Narcissa asked.

She rolled her head to the side and smiled at her best friend. Narcissa wore a cobalt blue bathing suit that made her eyes seem even icier than normal. Water-logged, her hair was a medium gray instead of its usual white-blonde.

“Permanent,” Marguerite confessed. She smirked at Narcissa. “Don’t tell him that, though. I’m enjoying seeing him work for it. Every day he does, it proves further that I’m not a passing fancy. At this point, it would hurt like Mordred if he changed his mind.”

“He won’t!” Narcissa insisted. “I always knew he wanted you. Even Lucius isn’t stupid enough to blow it at this point.” She pulled a handful of grass and threw it at Marguerite.

“Aunt Lucretia would kill him if he messed it up.”

Narcissa snickered. “Lord Malfoy would probably disown him. It’s no secret they adore you and want you to be their daughter-in-law.”

“Dad . . . Dad would’ve approved.” Marguerite closed her eyes to trap the tears. “He and Mum would’ve been over the moon.”

Narcissa sat up and folded her legs, before leaning closer to Marguerite. She touched Marguerite’s arm lightly, to offer comfort and reassurance. “All they ever wanted was for you to be happy. That’s more than a lot of pureblood parents want for their children. They actually loved you.”

Marguerite sniffled and wiped her teary eyes. “I know.”

“Lucius looks at you with all the love and longing in the world, Marguerite. You’re not blind or obtuse. You must’ve seen it,” Narcissa said. “So grab hold and cling with all your might. Most people don’t get loved that much by one person in their life, let alone three.”

“I love him just as fiercely,” Marguerite stated, voice shaking with every syllable.

Narcissa’s own eyes were wet with tears as she smiled. “I know. And is Lady Marguerite Malfoy, of the Sacred Twenty-Eight Families, worthy of being the bride of Heir Malfoy?” Narcissa asked.

“Yes, of course!” Marguerite replied with a wide grin. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Narcissa’s laugh held equal amounts of relief and joy. “There you are. That’s more like you.”

“Thank you.” Gratitude filled Marguerite. Talking things out had always helped her better understand her thoughts and her heart. Unfortunately, she had never been surrounded by many people that she trusted with her real thoughts and feelings. Knowing and believing weren’t always the same, and they each played an important part in self-worth.

Marguerite grinned then, and decided to comment on something she had noticed when Narcissa first arrived at Malfoy Manor. “I see you’ve moved the obsidian bracelet Lord Flint gave you to your left wrist.”

Narcissa’s fingers closed around it instantly. “Y-yes. I did.”

“It’s going well?” It was hard to keep the teasing tone light, but she managed it. 

“I’ve become . . . fond of him, Marguerite,” Narcissa confessed. She sounded terrified of that admission. “He makes me feel safe when I’m with him.” She was silent for several minutes before saying, “I th-think that I could l-love him.”

“But?” Marguerite asked. Because Narcissa didn’t seem at all pleased with her realizations.

Narcissa frowned. “I can’t help but wonder if he’s playing me, just like my father played my mother.”

Marguerite stated, utterly unrepentant, “If he is, I’ll brew you an untraceable poison. The Potters invented loads of them over the centuries; it’ll never come down on your head.” She hugged Narcissa. “I really think he’s being sincere, Narcissa. But if we’re both wrong and he’s an unmitigated bastard, we’ll kill him for it.”

Narcissa smiled and whispered, “Thank you.”

“You’re—” Her head snapped off to the right as she felt Lucius approaching. His magic nudged up against her. Was it tea time already?

“Flavius is with him,” Narcissa said.

“I should order Lucius to stay back there and keep Flint at his side,” Marguerite muttered, as she stretched back against the blanket.

“Why?” 

“Because we’re wearing bikinis, Narcissa! I don’t want to be witness to him and Flint dueling each other to the death in order to defend our honor!” That would be so like the noble prat. On the other hand, she loved watching him duel; he was power in motion.

A strangled sound came from behind the trees that hid them from view.

“You don’t think they would really…” Narcissa trailed off, a calculating light in her eyes.

“You underestimate how possessive Lucius is,” Marguerite stated. But she didn’t say anything to warn the guys away. Instead, after waiting another minute for him to appear, she called out, “Be useful, Lucius! Come keep me warm! The lake was freezing!”

Her eyes opened to slits as he pulled her on top of him and wrapped his arms around her. His gaze burned down at her, sweeping slowly up and down her body multiple times. His hands brushed across her bare skin. “You enjoy torturing me,” Lucius accused.

Marguerite kept her head turned away from the other end of the blanket where Lord Flint had joined Narcissa. Someone, she didn’t know who, had erected a silencing barrier over each couple. She kissed his cheek, and then nibbled along his jaw. “Very much.”

Lucius huffed, before occupying her mouth with long, lazy kisses. “You’re lucky I love you so much.”

Her cheeks ached from the force of her smile as she traced his features. “Yes, Lucius, I am.”

But that didn’t mean she was going to stop torturing him any time soon.


End file.
